Lose My Head
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: Right or wrong. Revenge or not. Matthew was just trying to be a good friend. And it was just a stupid competition. And its not like he actually cared about Arthur Kirkland. And what were the chances of Arthur even falling for him? AU, Arthur/Matthew
1. Chapter 1

I watched "Scott Pilgrim versus the World". You can thank that movie (OMG IT WAS SO GOOOOOD) for this fic as well for my new belief that we all explode into coins when we die.

Btw, Michael Cera is Canadian? Seriously, the first words out of my mouth were "He's not one of ours?" And my friend was like "You're not allowed to speak anymore."

So, yeah, I had planned to write an angsty threesome between Canada, America, and England. But, then, I realized that I couldn't so here's this thingy instead. XD Maybe someday, I'll write a threesome, someday...

Warnings: FAIL, OOC-ness, language, AU, slash, teenagers

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew

* * *

"You want me to what?" Matthew hissed, indigo eyes incredulous, as he stared at his best friend, his fingers curled tight around the metal edge of his locker. "Has all that cocaine gone to your head?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Okay, for one, brometheus, I've been clean for two months, three weeks, two days and twenty-two hours." The blond leaned closer smiling brilliantly despite the skeptical glare his friend gave him. "And, secondly, you heard me."

"I am not going to sleep with the front man of your band's rival band just so you can win that stupid Battle of the Bands contest." Matthew slammed his locker shut and slung his book bag over his satchel. "That's _wrong_."

"You don't have to sleep with him." Alfred sighed, jogging to catch up with the other blond who was already storming away. "Just…make him fall in love with you and then break his heart—"

"Because that's not cruel at all." Matthew stated dryly, waving at one of his teammates. "I thought you were over it."

"I am." Alfred said adamantly, whirling around and walking backwards so he could stare pleadingly at his best friend. "This has nothing to do with revenge. It has everything to do with winning."

"Winning isn't everything."

"That's what parents tell their loser kids so they don't cry themselves to sleep because they suck ass at life."

"You just want to beat his band so he'll realize how stupid he was to kick you out of his band."

"So, so not true!" A beat of silence then. "Though I wouldn't be opposed to such an outcome…"

The two blonds continued to walk down the hallway, Matthew ignoring Alfred's excited pleas with a stoic expression.

"Al. I'm only going to say this once." Matthew came to a halt right at the exit doors of their school. "No."

And then he shoved through the doors, leaving behind a frustrated blond.

* * *

"Hey, Matt. You realize Jones has been staring at you for the past hour right?" Matthias asked, eyebrow quirked, as he skated by.

Matthew, who was going over a play with Berwald, rolled his eyes. "He wants to me to seduce Arthur and help sabotage his band so Alfred can win Battle of the Bands."

"Absolutely not." Anders and Fridrik said in unison.

"That's what I said." Matthew sighed, blowing at his errant curl that was bouncing lazily between his eyes. "He just can't take no for an answer."

"I could make him?" Ivan offered with an innocent grin that sent Raivis into a fit of shivers as the large Russian lazily skated up next to him. "I can be…quite persuasive."

"No, no that's okay Ivan." The blond reassured his teammate.

"I don't approve of him trying to pimp you out." Tino added as he stepped onto the ice. "You're not some prostitute—"

"Yeah, you don't show nearly enough leg." Matthias interrupted with a lewd smile, earning a swift blow to the head courtesy of Anders.

"And Arthur is a delinquent." Tino finished, glaring darkly at the wild-haired boy.

"'e's dang'rous." Berwald agreed.

"He's not that bad." Matthew argued with a slight pout. "Al's still bitter about being kicked out of Arthur's band."

"I'm not bitter!" Alfred hollered from the stands. "And I can hear you Mattie!"

Matthew's face darkened and he turned to face his friend. "Then you know I want you to GO AWAY!"

"NOT UNTIL YOU AGREE TO RUIN ARTHUR!" Alfred shrieked. "I CAN KEEP THIS UP FOREVER AND EVER AND—"

"He probably could." Anders pointed out.

Matthew scowled. "Ivan, maybe we need your special brand of persuasion."

"With pleasure." The pale-haired boy said with a cheerful smile as he tore off his helmet, gloves and jersey and began to hum as he made his way to Alfred.

* * *

A week later (and another $500 of therapy as well as a restraining order against Ivan), Alfred hadn't said another word to Matthew about seducing his former bandmate.

"So we finally decided on a name." Alfred babbled cheerfully, a friendly arm draped across Matthew's shoulders as the two strolled into the vintage music shop. Alfred, slurping on an extra-large strawberry milkshake and decked out in ratty jeans and a faded Guns N' Roses shirt, then proceeded to untangle himself from his best friend and bounced over to the country section.

Matthew, wearing a black tuque and dark red shirt, followed at a much more leisurely pace behind his friend, nose scrunching up when he saw Alfred pawing through Tim McGraw.

"We are now The BoonRock Saints!" Alfred crowed, grin splitting his face.

"Clever." Matthew replied, a small smile on his face. "Much better than Alfred and the Alfredettes."

"That name," Alfred said with a serious look. "was the _shit._"

"Yeah, shit. That sums it up nicely." Matthew teased, nudging Alfred with his elbow. "By the way, we came in here for a reason, eh?" He pointed over next to an innocuous bulletin board over in the corner of the nearly empty store. "The sooner you do this, the sooner you can go on and practice."

"Pfft, practice." Alfred said dismissively, ditching the CDs and already heading over to the board. "We've already got a kickass song ready to go."

"Sure."

"No, really, Mattie. With me on bass and with Stevie's drum solo—pen, please yo—and Angie's sex voice and Kiku on the keyboard, we're gonna rock so hard."

"Or crash and burn like the shite group you are." An accented voice drawled from behind them.

Both blonds turned and faced the intruder, both with wary expressions.

Arthur still dressed in the royal blue sweater vest and plaid pants of their high school, gave them a smug look.

"Nerd Council run late?" Alfred sneered, fingers tightening around his milkshake.

"Sharp wit as usual, Jones." The sandy-haired Brit replied. "Pardon me." And with that, he pushed between both boys, plucking the pen easily from Alfred's lax fingers and scrawling the name of his band on the next open space.

"The Rippers?" Alfred read with a laugh. "Lame."

"If your music is anything like your comebacks, we'll have no problem kicking your pathetic arses." Arthur grit out, finishing his writing with a flourish and then shoving the pen back at the blond. "Face it, git, you have no chance." He added, before sharply turning on his heel.

Alfred was unnaturally quiet.

* * *

Alfred's silence continued even during the ride back to his house. Knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, the blond stared ahead with steely blue eyes. No matter how many times Matthew glanced at him during the drive, Alfred gave no indication of speaking.

When the two teens finally pulled into Alfred's driveway, his beat-up Ford sputtering weakly as the blond switched off the ignition.

"He thinks he knows everything." Alfred scowled. "Stupid limey bastard. We'll show him."

Matthew sighed. Though he had only moved to the U.S at the end of 8th grade, the blond was well aware of how the bad blood began between Arthur and Alfred. Moving next door to the vivacious blond, Matthew's first glimpse of Alfred had been him and Arthur practicing together in the younger teen's garage.

The two had become friends fairly quickly, sharing a similar taste in movies, music, and television. They bonded instantly, going so far as become blood brothers a week before 9th grade started.

(They both had matching scars on their palms—perfect mirror images much to their amusement.)

Thanks to Matthew's close friendship with Alfred, the blue-eyed boy had invited him to watch his band practice. Matthew had sat, in awe, as the young group stumbled through a few songs.

Of course, Matthew had also been there the day Arthur had kicked Alfred out of the band.

From what the teen understood, Alfred had been too stubborn and unwilling to listen to Arthur's direction. Arthur, on the other hand, was a bit of a control freak and anal-retentive jerk.

The two headstrong individuals had clashed and though Alfred gave Arthur a lovely shiner, he was kicked out of the band.

(That, of course, led to the period in Alfred's life known as the "I will never, ever, ever join another band ever" and he had withdrawn from everyone and had gained twenty pounds.)

It wouldn't have been so bad, if Alfred hadn't founded the band with Arthur in middle school.

Sure, for the next two years, Alfred pretended like he was over it. He eventually returned to music, starting small by teaching Matthew bass.

Of course, Matthew was musically retarded so Alfred decided it was a burden he'd have to bear for the both of them.

("You can be our groupie!" He said cheerfully.)

He'd recruited a few more people, with Matthew's help, and had a few gigs.

Unfortunately, the upcoming Battle of the Bands would decide which band would reign supreme and, much to Al's displeasure, Arthur's band was decent competition.

Alfred had been absolutely devastated when he lost his band.

"…I don't actually have to sleep with him, right?" Matthew asked quietly, leaning his head back against the seat's headrest. "Because those eyebrows are a huge turn off."

Alfred slowly turned to stare at him, blue eyes a little hopeful. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Mattie. You said so yourself that its wrong—"

Matthew knew Alfred would do the same for him in a heartbeat.

Matthew paused, briefly, before continuing, fiddling with a loose string on his shirt. "Well, there's no guarantee that he'll actually fall for me. As long as he's a little distracted…"

Alfred's lips curled into a bright smile and that was Matthew's only warning before his friend lunged at him and pulled him into a huge bear hug, forcing the old car to rock ominously.

* * *

Anders is Norway, Fridrik Iceland, Matthias Denmark, Angie (Angelique later) Seychelles, Stevie (Steven, later) Australia. Also, this fic reminds me of "John Tucker Must Die"...I hated that movie. :/

So...worth continuing?


	2. Chapter 2

OMG YOU GUYS SO ROCK. :D Seriously, the response to this story was better than I expected. Thanks for all the reviews, favs, and alerts. So here's the next chapter~ Please enjoy!

Warnings: language, OOCness, AU, slash, potential fail

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew

* * *

For not the first (and most likely not the last), Matthew wondered just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

"You're half French, bro. This should be like…second nature." Alfred scolded. "And you're not completely fugly."

"Thanks, Al."

"I just don't understand. Your milkshake should bring all the boys to the yard. Its impossible for you to just be a plain Jane."

"My self-confidence is absolutely soaring right now, Alfred."

"…I mean your mom is a total knock-out. Your dad is pretty hot for a dude—no homo. But you…" Alfred gestured helplessly at Matthew who was currently standing in the center of his room, clad in only a pair of maple leaf boxers with his arms crossed somewhat defensively across his pale chest with an irritated scowl. "…You're a scientific anomaly. Hot parents but homely kid? At least you've got the entire Great White North in your drawls—"

"Don't call it that!" Matthew snapped, before adding. "Please."

Alfred sighed. "Okay, okay—but its really, really big—I'll lay off. After all, you don't have to go through with this." He fixed his best friend with a stern look. "Seriously, Dr. Edelstein says I shouldn't strong-arm you into helping me commit unethical acts because that'd be taking advantage of our friendship and I'd never force you into doing anything you don't want to do—but if you love me and value your sanity you will—so you can step out anytime you want and we'll go get shakes and laugh this entire thing off."

Matthew blinked, slowly digesting that entire sentence. Once he managed to sort through the rushed words, he managed a small grin at the other blond. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Al. I…I would like to at least try." He admitted, rubbing his arms nervously.

He knew this entire plan was wrong and so many things could go wrong (it was, after all, Alfred's idea). But, as he consoled himself, the worst that could happen was that he'd prove to be an annoyance to Arthur and knock him off his game a little bit. No one would end up hurt and Alfred's band might get that little extra "oomph" to victory.

The only problem was how to exactly go about with this supposed seduction. Perhaps he could get close to Arthur, which wouldn't be too hard considering the fact that they were both on the Student Council (Matthew, though only a junior, won Treasurer because he was responsible with money and because Yao had graduated and because he was apparently well liked—which was strange since he was practically invisible at school) and that Arthur didn't really know him (he never seemed to notice Matthew standing with Alfred but that might have more to do with the painfully obvious animosity between the two.).

"So, back to this seducing thing." Alfred began, stroking his chin (on purpose to look more intellectual) as he made thoughtful hums every so often. "I know Iggy bats for both teams—"

"…How?" The violet-eyed teen asked hesitantly.

Alfred grinned, a bit evilly then. "He and Francis had a little fling the last year of middle school. Followed by a messy break-up."

"…Francis never mentioned that." Matthew raised an eyebrow. Normally his cousin loudly and happily reminisced on his dalliances.

"Shame, mostly." The American shrugged. "He'll deny it if you ask. And, he won't care if you make the moves on Arthur. Seriously, I think he'd buy you condoms and say 'bone chance'."

"_Bonne_ _chance_." Matthew corrected gently, earning a "meh" and half-hearted shrug.

And Francis would probably buy him lube too. Just saying.

"Anyways!" Alfred started circling around him before stopping inches away from his face. The blond leaned closer until his and Matthew's nose were touching and his bright eyes bore deeply into his friend's.

Matthew, who was too used to this sort of behavior, merely stood and sighed. However, by lowering his guard, he wasn't able to stop Alfred when the other blond neatly snatched his steel-rimmed glasses and dashed back out of reach.

"Alfred!" Matthew shouted, trying (and failing) to grab his friend. "I need those, you hoser!"

"Matt. I think we've found it." Alfred announced, a pleased grin on his face. "Your eyes."

"What about them?" the other grumbled, feeling incredibly naked without his glasses.

"They're pretty." The blue-eyed teen stated. "Really, really pretty. In fact, you're really pretty when you aren't wearing these things." He scrutinized his friend with sharp eyes. "Did you know you look like your mom?"

"Yes, I did know." Matthew snapped, finally snatching back his glasses and shoving them on only to see Alfred's pout. "That's why I wear them."

"…You don't actually need them?"

Matthew shifted guiltily. "Well, I can go without them but then my head starts to hurt later and I just really prefer wearing them." Alfred looked unconvinced. "And I don't like being mistaken for a girl when I go out." The Canadian huffed, angrily shoving a curly strand of hair behind his ear.

"Fine!" Alfred sighed. "I guess we can work on that later."

"Or never."

"I'm gonna dig through your clothes and take out anything not cool." Alfred continued, breezing by as though Matthew hadn't even spoken.

"Story of my life." The Canadian thought to himself, not at all bitter. But still he sat back and watched, somewhat amused, as Alfred began to rummage through his closet and throw out random things and Matthew wondered when he should remind Alfred that they wore uniforms.

In the end, Alfred got tired and decided that Matthew should just start wearing the proper uniform.

"Like your tie and even this stupid blazer." The blond smirked, tossing said items onto the bed. "Arthur—the stupid hypocrite—is a stickler for the rules at school. He probably gets off on Windsor knots and clean fingernails."

"…My fingernails are clean."

"Well, you're already halfway into his pants." Alfred teased.

Matthew laughed and idly studied his long-forgotten blazer. Despite the dress code, few students followed it to a tee. Arthur was one of those few.

Matthew and Alfred, on the other hand, got by even though they missed a few pieces here and there. For example, Alfred would wear the blazer and tie sans sweater vest and Converse instead of loafers. Or Matthew would wear a sweater vest and loafers and no blazer or tie. However, the blue plaid pants had to stay but that was okay because those were bitchin'.

"You know what, Mattie?" Alfred began, waiting until Matthew glanced at him. "I think we've got this." He said excitedly, raising a fist. "Brofist!"

The other blond rolled his eyes but humored the other teenager by bumping his fist against Alfred's.

* * *

"You look different." Gilbert said suspiciously chin resting on his palm as he leaned further onto the desk, weight supported by his elbow. "Haircut?"

Matthew, already fidgeting under the other's scrutiny, crossed his arms and stared steadfast at the chalkboard, urging class to start already.

The albino next to him frowned and continued staring. "Nose job?"

"N-no!"

"Hey, hey, it was a guess." The other said easily with an innocent grin. "Just teasin', Mattie. Geez."

Matthew glared at him. "Nothing is different, Gilbert. And I hope you're not planning on skipping practice again.

"Pfft! I'm too awesome for that crap!" The other said dismissively. The, crimson eyes narrowed as Gilbert leaned forward before realization dawned on his sharp features and he began to chortle. "Kesesese. You're dressed like our goody-two-shoes President!"

Matthew flushed, lips already twisting into a pout. "I'm just trying to set a good example for students like _you_." He snapped.

"Suuure." Gilbert drawled with a smug look. He gestured at his outfit, everything but the blazer, tie, and loafers. "No one does. Not even Franny goes the whole chalupa and he's the VP."

"…I think you mean enchilada."

"And I think you're turning into a priss."

"Hey Gilbert." Matthew was pretty much done with his friend's antics. Usually he'd have much more patience but he was feeling uncomfortably warm under all his layers and he hadn't properly broken in the loafers and it wasn't even 9 o'clock. "Actually, don't come to practice unless you want to die."

The silver-haired boy just chuckled, although it was a little more subdued, and scooted back over his side of the desk.

* * *

"Jones! What the bloody fuck have I told you about interrupting council meetings you wanker?" Arthur bellowed as soon as Matthew dashed into the room, apologies already spilling from his lips.

The junior stopped and stared at the Student Council President, wondering why, oh why, they had to go through this nearly every meeting.

"That is not Alfred. Clearly you must trim those ghastly things since they are affecting your eyesight, _cher._" Francis said boredly, examining his recently manicured nails. "That is _Mathieu_ and he shall be sitting next to me." And with that, Francis smiled charmingly at the wavy-haired blond and pulled out the seat next to him with a not-so-subtle wink.

Arthur's eye twitched, already foreseeing a potential sexual harassment suit and, worse, a derailed meeting. "Not on my watch, frog." He snarled, cheeks a little pink at having realized that it was not Alfred in the doorway but Matthew Williams (who's only fault was being Alfred's best friend and Francis's cousin).

(To be honest, though, in Arthur's book, those were some pretty big faults.)

"Have a seat. Right here, Matthew." The sandy-haired teen demanded, before catching himself and adding in a kinder voice. "If you would." He gestured at the open seat next to him, trying to smile encouragingly.

Matthew shot an apologetic look at Francis and quickly made his way to Arthur, sitting down and pulling out his report on the month's funds and scribbled ideas for fundraisers.

"It is alright, _mon chaton_." Francis said dramatically, hand slapping the table as he stared at Matthew who (very reluctantly) made eye contact with the older blond. "We shall always have Montreal." He waggled his eyebrows for effect.

The junior's indigo eyes widened as a dark blush painted his cheeks scarlet. Torn between anger and embarrassment, Matthew didn't know whether to throw his book bag at his cousin or just jump out the window.

Francis knew better than to mention the Montreal Incident. Of course, the blond still didn't think he did anything wrong.

Matthew begged to differ and still had to remind the amorous teenager that "we're cousins and I don't care how beautiful it was and will be, please burn the pictures and find a new obsession".

"Enough!" Ludwig snapped from his end of the table. The Secretary (and the unlucky person in charge of keeping everyone on task), glared at the entire group with annoyed pale blue eyes. "We should've started this meeting exactly five minutes ago." He stared pointedly at Matthew.

"Sorry." The blond mumbled, ducking his head a bit and looking contrite.

Ludwig's face softened minutely and he coughed a bit to cover his slip. "Yes, well, I believe we can now start. Arthur, you have forty-five seconds to officially call this meeting to order, followed by five minutes in which you must give us the details of your most recent meeting with the Headmaster. Then, Matthew, you have seven minutes in which you will present your report. Finally, Francis you have three minutes in which you are allowed to speak and then Arthur you are allotted another five minutes for any additional announcements. Finally, we shall have—"

"Lets just get on with it." Arthur snapped, green eyes daring Ludwig to argue.

The blond student, though displeased at being disrupted, nodded curtly and readied himself to start writing the meeting minutes.

"About bloody time." The green-eyed teen muttered, earning a quiet giggle from Matthew that didn't go unheard.

With a raised, thick eyebrow and a sidelong look at Matthew, the Brit then turned back to his notes. "I now call this meeting to order."

* * *

Finally, the meeting ended with no more interruptions. As Francis and Arthur exchanged a few, customary parting insults ("_Rosbif" _"Git"), Matthew wasted no time exiting after Ludwig in order to make it to practice on time. As he hurried down the hallway, a voice called out after him.

"Matthew! A word, please."

Skidding to a halt, Matthew looked back questioningly as Arthur briskly walked towards him.

"Yes, Arthur?" He asked, ever polite even when rushed.

"I'd like to…apologize for earlier." The older teen said, a little haltingly, as though uncomfortable. "You and Jo-Alfred share a resemblance. It's quite uncanny. But, that's no excuse for my behavior. I—"

Matthew, feeling that Arthur would probably ramble on, quickly interrupted. "Its okay. It happens." He laughed a bit, inwardly wondering if this would be a good time to start flirting.

He looked at Arthur, feeling his confidence slowly drip away as the other seemed to stare into his soul with those sharp green eyes. "Um…so I have prac—"

"You have a bit of fluff here." Arthur picked off some lint from Matthew's lapel and then quickly straightened his tie and collar. "You look quite smart today." And with that he began to walk away.

Matthew stared blankly at the other's retreating back and, before he could censor himself, he shouted, "So do you!" and then promptly winced at how loud (and totally not smooth) he sounded.

Arthur paused, shoulders shaking slightly and when he spoke, there was a bit of a laugh in his tone. "Cheerio, mate."

Matthew refrained from slamming his head against the nearest locker.

Seriously, just what the hell did he get himself into?

* * *

Ahaha, okay guys. You all pointed out some great things in the reviews and I will do my best to make this work/not fail! Seriously, though I was gonna incorporate cross-dressing but then I was like "...dude...for what purpose?" ...So maybe another time? -puts away a frilly dress for Matthew to wear- Lol.

And, yeah, this whole thing is a double-edged sword. And it'll be cliched and fun and teenage-movie-ish and lets hope I don't screw up. But your guys' support and interest really inspires me and makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I won't drop the ball.

So...wanna see another chapter?


	3. Chapter 3

Not gonna lie, guys, you're incredibly lucky I'm feeling so inspired for this story. ^_^ I'm sorry if that sounds bitchy, but even I'm amazed at how I've been updating lately on the UK/Canada front. Anyone who follows me closely, knows I am AWFUL about updating. -looks over at the pile of unfinished stories and sobs- But there's not nearly enough UK/Canada and, even if its this sad little attempt by me, its still something yeah?

Anyways, a big thanks to everyone following this story. Please enjoy this fairly long-ish chapter!

Warning: language, OOC-ness, cliches, fail, teen movie-ish, overuse of film quotes and slang, bromance between Alfred & Matthew (yes, a bromance-nothing more but nothing less), song lyrics.

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Hetalia or the song "Chelsea" by Stefy.

* * *

Matthew, exhausted and nursing a huge new bruise that spread across the expanse of his back (courtesy of a brutal hit from Ivan), managed to drag himself over to Alfred's house after a quick shower, knowing full well that, no matter how tempting his bed looked, would never hear the end of it if he didn't.

The sounds of low music reached him before he even entered the modest, two-story home and he couldn't hold back a fond smile as he greeted Alfred's father, George, and made his way downstairs to the unfinished basement.

Leaning against the doorframe, Matthew, wearing sweatpants and a loose-fitting red shirt, watched his friends practice, the steady beat calming him as Angelique's sweet voice crooned.

"_I don't wanna lose my head today. But I know there's something in the way._" The tanned girl cooed, lips scant centimeters from the microphone, her plaid skirt swishing gently with the sway of her hips. "_Maybe I made a big mistake last night…when I left you alone with Chelsea._"

Angelique was a year younger than them in school, having just transferred from Seychelles (which, yes, was a country apparently) and had been the newest addition to the band. It had been purely by accident that they managed to get her involved and completely thanks to Matthew.

The blond had been jogging in the park when he saw the longhaired brunette frolicking about on the banks of the man-made lake, barefoot and dressed in a powder blue dress, happily singing some song in French about fish.

"_Petit poisson. Petit poisson. Nager, nager, nager!"_ Her voice was almost sickeningly sweet until she decided to belt out a screamo version of the lyrics. "_Oh non! Il est mange par un…_" By this point Matthew had stopped to watch the younger girl do some sort of twist, dance step, completely unaware of the boy creepily watching her from the picnic benches. "_Baracude! Baracude!_"

Matthew, who remembered that Alfred had been bitching about needing a kickass singer for his Heroic Return to Music (capitals and all) and just knowing that this girl might just be what the band needed (because it was a straight-up sausage fest in that basement and everyone loved a cute female lead), had blurted out, "Wanna join a band?"

Angelique had shrieked, whirling around, and stared at Matthew with shocked sloe-colored eyes. "Rape!" She cried, already dashing for her shoes, her pigtails bouncing with each step.

The Canadian smacked his forehead and mentally kicked himself in the ass. "Why are you so awkward?" He muttered, before calling back to the girl. "_Tu chantes tres bien, mademoiselle!"_ When the girl stopped running and turned around warily, he gave her a charming smile (the same one he gave his homeroom teacher whenever he and Alfred came to class late and saved them from detention). "We got off on the wrong start. I'm Matthew."

"Angelique." She had said, then, with a small smile. "You really meant it? What you said?"

Later, he had offered to bring the rest of the band to the park to meet her and she had cheerfully agreed (now knowing that Matthew only acted like a creeper and wasn't actually one). Alfred, who was even less successful with girls, had demanded that she "sing or get the fuck out" and Angelique, eyes narrowed, gave a brilliant rendition of "Born in the USA" (after seeing Alfred's favorite American flag pants that he happened to be wearing).

Alfred, eyes filled with ("manly") tears, quickly proclaimed her as the newest band mate, without any argument from Steven or Kiku.

Steven, on the other hand, had been with the two blonds since the beginning. A cousin of Arthur's (not that either acknowledged it often), had taken up drumming in his childhood as a way to burn off excess energy and keep out of trouble during the winter. The blond, who had the same ginormous eyebrows as his cousin, could always be found with a wide grin and a joke on his tongue. He tended to take risks and play rough and he seemed to have a perpetual injury on his nose that allowed him to go through various colors and patterns of band-aids depending on his mood. He had been sitting with Matthew at lunch when Alfred had stormed up to the table, pupils dilated, slamming his hands—palm down—on the table and said, "Either we start a band or I kill myself."

Matthew had just stared at Alfred, violet eyes wide. "…Have you been snorting in the bathroom again?"

"Sounds cool mate. Need a drummer?" Steven had asked, calmly spreading vegemite onto his burger.

"Seriously?" Alfred had leaned forward onto the table, practically vibrating where he stood.

"Yeah, chicks love guys who play in bands." The blond had grinned toothily and gestured over to a table across the cafeteria where an androgynous blond with short curls around her face was putting down a sheep backpack in an open chair. "I've got my eye on that sheila down that ways." A somewhat lovesick look overcame his expression. "I volunteer with her at the animal shelter. She bottle feeds the lambs like she's their own ma."

Alfred was rubbing at his nose. "Okay, sounds awesome dude." He looked around, fingers drumming against the table (Steven's brow had furrowed when he realized how out of time Alfred was). "Okay, drummer check. Now we just need—"

"To get your ass home." Matthew hissed, grabbing the blond by the elbow and dragging him towards the exit. "You're in no shape to finish classes. Lets go."

Kiku, finally, had only agreed because Alfred promised to stop skipping out on their joint experiments for the Science Club. Also, he wanted a little more variety on his college application. But mostly because of Alfred.

"_When I left you alone with Chelsea!_" Angelique finished, her voice ringing low at the end. When she pulled back from the mike, she whirled around and flashed a sunny smile at Matthew. "How'd we sound?"

Alfred, who was still engrossed with his bass and wearing a deep frown, answered, instead, "We sounded off around towards the end. And you hit the wrong notes, Kiku, during the chorus lines. Angie, I think you should sing this song a little lower, huskier and Steve…well, you did okay. _Just _okay." He looked around at the group, not noticing Matthew. "Seriously, guys, we need to give 310% percent and our souls if we want to win." A competitive glint shone behind his steel-rimmed glasses.

Kiku nodded amiably, hands folded in his lap. Steven rolled his eyes and then winked at Matthew and tilted his head in Alfred's direction as if to say "This bloke needs to get his priorities in order".

"I'm sure you guys will get it." The curly-haired teen then stepped in, hands tucked into his pockets. "The competition isn't for a while."

"Two months!" Alfred snapped, before realizing whom exactly he was snapping at and then a sheepish expression crossed his face. "Oh hey, Mattie." He chuckled nervously. "How was your day?"

Matthew rolled his eyes, striding into the room and bypassing the group, collapsing face down on the worn leather couch he and Alfred had salvaged from the dump and fixed up. "I have no game. And Ivan is one crazy son-of-a-bitch." He turned his head so he could see his friends. "I just want to hear some good music now." The teen said with a shy smile.

And, with a shrill whistle and quick countdown, Steven was already building up a steady tempo with Alfred strumming along as Angelique began to hum. Soon Kiku followed and Matthew found himself drifting off as the music lulled him to sleep.

* * *

"Wakey wakey sleepy head."

Matthew groaned, face burrowing deeper into the ratty couch.

Alfred laughed lightly, tweaking one of his friend's messy curls. "Wanna stay the night, dude?"

"…If you'll carry me." The teen mumbled groggily. "I can't feel my toes."

The blue-eyed blond looked concerned. "That psycho really did a number on you, huh?"

"I was distracted." Matthew muttered, eyes flickering open to see Alfred leaning on the couch near his face. "Francis mentioned the Montreal thing."

Alfred winced. "Oh."

"Yeah." Matthew shifted slightly. "But Arthur did notice me today."

"I told you the uniform would work."

"No wonder barely anyone wears all that stuff. I was sweating like—"

"A whore in church?"

"…a lot." Matthew said flatly. "But Arthur said I looked 'smart'."

Alfred snorted. "Weird-ass way to say you look fine, but it's a start." He quieted, his toes digging into the shaggy rug that had been thrown haphazardly into the basement to cover the concrete floor. "Have I told you what an awesome friend you are?"

"Not lately, but you can prove it to me by carrying me upstairs." Matthew said suggestively, before adding somberly. "I can't feel my legs."

"Sure thing, buddy."

* * *

The next day, Alfred and Matthew piled into Alfred's old Ford and made their way leisurely to school, stopping by a Dunkin' Donuts so Alfred could get his "donut on" and so that Matthew could bitch about how Tim Horton's could beat down any other breakfast chain in America while still nibbling on a glazed donut and some mediocre hot chocolate.

The two entered into the Academy with plenty of time to spare. Alfred, with a chocolate frosted donut half in his mouth and a little on his shirt, was already waving down some friends from his physics class.

"Gotta go make sure I solved problem 12 correctly. I think I have the correct value for the coefficient of friction but I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong with my free body diagrams and I have a test in like three days—"

Matthew just nodded, mouth twitching in an attempt to hide his smile at Alfred's worry. "Yeah, see you at lunch."

"Later, broski."

Making his way to his locker, murmuring apologies as random people bumped into his, even as he internally bristled at their inability to see him. Finally, he reached his locker and swiftly opened it, depositing his textbooks for later and wondering if he could catch up on his Economics reading during history or if he should just wing it later.

"He is right here. Honestly, _monsieur le President_, you should know everyone in our charming school."

Matthew restrained himself from trying to hide in his locker. Instead, he grit his teeth and turned to face his fellow Student Council members. "Good morning, Arthur. Francis." He smiled lightly.

"_Bonjour, mon ange_." Francis purred, azure eyes gleaming as he reached out to cradle Matthew's cheek. "You look stunning as ever—"

"That is quite enough." Arthur cut in, grabbing the blond's wrist and shoving it into the cold metal. His eyebrows twitched slightly. "Shut your gob." And for good measure, he added, "Pervert."

"Ah, I'm used to it." Matthew admitted. When both seniors glanced at him, somewhat surprised to see him standing there, he sighed and slammed his locker shut. "What did you two need?"

"A copy of that report you presented yesterday." Arthur said, straightening up and giving Matthew a stern look. "Its quite important that you—"

"I'll photocopy it and bring it to class." The Canadian smiled.

"We don't have class together." Arthur said with a polite cough, shifting uncomfortably.

Francis merely smirked.

"Last period Medieval Literature." Matthew replied softly, gaze on the ground.

How the hell was he supposed to seduce this guy again?

* * *

"I suppose this is why I didn't realize you were in this class."

Matthew looked up from his copy of _Beowulf._ Arthur was taking the empty desk next to him, where a pretty senior named Belle would normally sit. The two desks were at the back of the room, near the window that Matthew had cracked open in order to find some cool air to relieve his overheated cheeks.

Arthur sat down, a little awkwardly, setting his satchel on the desk and pulling out his own copy of the text as well as a notepad and fountain pen.

"You sit in the front usu—"

"We haven't really ever gotten off to a good start, have we?" The Brit asked, not really looking at Matthew. "For what its worth my issue is with Jones, not you."

"Arthur—"

"I don't hate you and I'm sorry I keep forgetting you, is what I'm trying to say, git." Arthur snapped, a bit embarrassed. "So stop interrupting."

Matthew didn't mention that it was Arthur who hadn't let him get a word in edgewise. Then Arthur's words hit him and his eyes widened minutely, seeing his chance. "Well…" He began casually, dog-earing his book and turning a bit more to face the teen, fervently hoping that he would mess up. "I don't hate you either. Perhaps…we can work upwards from there?" He suggested, heart beat beginning to pick up.

Arthur appraised him for a moment. "Alright." He said finally. "After all, I do plan to take a good look at our financials and fundraising, Martin."

"…Matthew."

Arthur blinked. "Bollocks." He swore.

Matthew's lips twitched and he said, wryly, "Maybe you'll be able to learn my name somewhere along the line."

* * *

"Thank you." Arthur said absently, already looking over the report that Matthew had handed him after class. "From the looks of it, you did a smashing job putting this together." He smiled lightly at the younger teen.

"Well, if you do a good job once, there's no need to do it again." Matthew admitted, modestly, packing away his notebook with a small shrug.

"Quite right." The sandy-haired teen nodded approvingly, already turning on his heel to leave.

Matthew, pulling up his bag, was suddenly hit by an idea. "Oh, wait Arthur!"

The senior turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. Matthew, blushing a little, gripped the strap of his bag and gathered his courage.

"I'd like to run some ideas past you about managing the budget and about our autumn fundraiser." He began, a little nervously. "But before next week's meeting. Would you be able to meet me sometime so…we could talk?" He glanced hesitantly up at the other through his lashes.

Arthur considered his suggestion. "I have band practice regularly that lasts irregular hours, as you are well-aware. Perhaps before four?"

"I have hockey practice." Matthew said quickly, already aware that his coach disliked him missing practice once a week for Student Council meetings and knowing that he really shouldn't push his luck.

"Well, it can't be helped then." The other teen sighed, looking a little put out. "If you don't mind waiting with that noise, then just drop by whenever."

"Thanks. Sounds good." Matthew exhaled slowly.

Check one for Matthew Williams.

* * *

"You're so money, bro, and you don't even know it!" Alfred cheered, throwing his arms around Matthew, his bass squished between the two. "Come here you gorgeous Canuck bastard!"

"You poor bastard." Steven muttered, leaning on his tom-toms and tipping back his slouch hat and shaking his head sadly. "Why you would want to spend time with that pommie is beyond me."

"Perhaps it is Student Council business?" Kiku asked politely, dark eyes interested. "Perhaps it is necessary for you two to be forced together, to read over proposals all by yourselves, for him to demand you to submit because he—"

"Kiku. Dude." Alfred said, shocked. "If you are gonna use this as basis for your next smutty comic, then I don't think I'm okay with that."

"Me neither." Matthew added, horrified.

"Or me." Steven grimaced. "Blimey." He let his head thunk down onto the drums.

Angelique looked too excited.

"I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about." The Japanese boy replied demurely, a perfectly innocent expression on his face.

* * *

Translations for the French:

_Petit poisson, petit poisson. Nager, nager, nager. Oh non! Il est mangé par un...Baracude, baracude!_: Little fish, little fish. Swimming, swimming, swimming. Oh no! He was eaten by a...barracuda, barracuda!

_Tu chantes tres bien, mademoiselle!: _You sing very well, miss!

Okay, so I can't write song lyrics. So I'll be using existing songs unless otherwise noted. If anyone wants to suggest goods songs, please feel free!

Also, I know I'm making light of Alfred's cocaine addiction, but it was a big deal. It explains a lot of why Matt is protective of Alfred and vice versa. Remember, they are close friends-like brothers. No slash between them this time. But they've been through a lot together, some of which Arthur accidently kick-started.

Secondly, I'm no music buff, so forgive me for mistakes I will make during the course of this story. And please forgive my characterizations.

Thirdly, I do not plan to go into details about the "Montreal Incident". Sorry sorry! -nervous smile- Matthew doesn't like to talk about it. Please use your imaginations.

Fourthly...still good?


	4. Chapter 4

I finished this chapter a day ago and I was gonna hold off until the end of the week to post it but I just couldn't resist! How often is it that I actually churn out updates like this? I believe you all following this story shouldn't have to wait especially if the next update is complete. After all, I want to get to the fun parts. -winkwinkwink- So, much love to everyone supporting this story! Please enjoy this next update~

Warnings: previous warnings all apply but emphasis on OOC-ness & fail, mentions of & drug use

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Hetalia or Billy Idol's music.

* * *

"Thank god you're here. I'll take five boxes of Thin Mints and—You're not a girl scout." The tall man accused lowly.

"Um, no." Matthew said flatly, leaning back a bit as the spiky-haired teenager leaned forward, peering into his eyes. He was positive this was Arthur's house, but, after meeting the half-stoned man in front of him, he was starting to doubt it.

"…You look chill." The stranger finally said, amber colored eyes half-lidded regarded Matthew up and down. "What do you want?"

"…Arthur said I could drop by. I need to talk to him about Student Council matters." The wavy-haired blond explained, a little unnerved by the other's unblinking gaze. Suddenly, he became very much aware of the somewhat pungent odor emanating from the intimidating man. The smell, tantalizing in its potency, tickled his senses and sparked his memory. "…Is that pineapple express?"

As though a switch had been flipped, the man's eyes widened and his entire demeanor seemed to ease. "I have a joint with your name on it. …What is your name?"He looked at the teenager quizzically.

"Matthew." said blond supplied, helpfully, and tried to stay collected as the strange man wrapped a friendly arm around him and pulled him into the house, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Black mote? You look the type."

"Sometimes, but BC Bud reminds me of home." Matthew answered immediately. "By the way, your name?"

"Willem." The man shrugged. "But, you, my kindred spirit, may call me Will."

"Okay, Will." How the hell did he get himself into these situations? "…Are you taking me to Arthur? I really have to speak with him."

Will nodded. "He's downstairs with my sister and the rest of their little friends—practicing for some silly competition." He rolled his eyes, leading Matthew down a set of stairs now. "Along with their groupies." The taller male sounded annoyed, but it was tough to tell because his face didn't really change.

As the pair descended, the music, which had been a heavy throbbing in the background, became clearer and soon Matthew was able to catch the words.

"_Hey little sister what have you done?_" A voice purred darkly. "_Hey little sister who's the only one?_"

His violet eyes widened as they finally came upon the scene and he took in the site of Arthur Kirkland, uptight School President and stickler for the rules, sandy-hair shooting in different directions and dressed in the standard blue plaid uniform pants with his white collared shirt undone as his hips gyrated and he grinded sensuously into the mike stand.

He had gotten better at singing, Matthew noted absently, still somewhat reeling.

"_It's a nice day for a white wedding._" Arthur sang, words dripping into a growl.

Matthew gulped.

"Yo Mattie!" Gilbert called out, much to the consternation of a sour-faced Italian, whom Matthew recognized from school, who was sitting in an armchair off to the side. "Sit yo ass down!" The albino said with a toothy smirk, patting the empty spot next to him.

Matthew waved back and allowed Will to lead him over to the worn armchairs and huge couch, where the other two sat, gathered around a scratched up coffee table with a clear ashtray, filled with ash and burnt out roaches, a smog of marijuana still floating overhead and making the entire area hazy.

Will gently nudged him next to Gilbert and took the empty seat next to him, leaning onto the armrest. "So you know Matthew?"

"I copy off him in History." Gilbert shrugged nonchalantly. "And sometimes he flips me over the boards during practice. We're tight."

"Speaking of practice, you skipped again today."

"I told you I'm too awesome for that boring shit!"

The Italian just glanced at him boredly. "Next time you flip him, make sure the potato bastard doesn't get up."

"He usually doesn't." Matthew said with a small smirk. Gilbert stuck his tongue out at him.

"Bitch."

"Lovino." The Italian said, then, seemingly okay with Matthew's presence. "You the same Matt that that French idiot goes on and on about?"

"Unfortunately." Matthew grumbled darkly, earning a look of pity from the dark-haired boy and a snicker from Gilbert, before turning his attention back to the musicians.

From behind the drum set, he could see Belle, her short hair held back by a pretty sequined headband. The blonde smiled at him, not once breaking beat, and gave him a small wink.

Off to the right of her, closer to the front, Antonio, a close friend of Francis and Gilbert, cheerfully strummed along on his guitar, fingers a near blur as he kept up with the seemingly impossible pace set by Belle.

"That idiot missed a note." Lovino muttered, a dark glare settling on his features. "And that jerk is off key now."

Matthew nodded, having caught Arthur's mistake. Remember, his foray into musical instruments had been short. Then, he glanced back at Arthur and nearly pissed himself when he realized that the sandy-haired senior was staring straight at him, jade eyes sharp, as he sang.

"_It's a nice day for a white wedding!_" Arthur yelled, eyes shutting as he carried the note to the very end as Belle slammed down on her bass drum.

Holy maple moose balls. They were _good._ No wonder Alfred was so freaked out.

Two talented groups going head to head. This could go either way.

Matthew's shoulders suddenly felt much heavier. Which was why when Willem offered him a smoking joint, he snatched it and took a deep drag. He breathed out slowly, the smoke curling out of his mouth, as he passed it back to the ashen-haired man.

"Brother! How dare you corrupt Matthew?" Belle shouted from her drum set, looking indignant. "Get away from him, Matt. He's blitzed from the moment he wakes up until he passes out in bed!"

"Calm down, Bel-Bel." Antonio soothed. "Francis said Matthew is a pot connoisseur."

Belle didn't look pleased by this new bit of information, but Will looked proud.

"Kindred spirits." He repeated, taking a long drag from the joint. "This is some good shit, right?"

Matthew nodded, not quite trusting himself not to squeak. Will, however, was already more interested in the woven fabric of the couch. "Its like…my life in color…" He mumbled.

The blond Canadian understood. He'd been there.

Gilbert raised a pale brow. "I think I'm getting a contact high."

"Matthew." Arthur said sharply, and Matthew jerked, staring at the other teen. Suddenly, the senior's expression softened and he smirked. "Got your name in one, mate."

"Y-yeah." The blond said with a weak grin, noticing the shiny metal industrial piercing in the other's ear as well as the eyeliner he was wearing.

"Didn't expect you today." The Brit admitted easily. "Thought you'd be by yesterday."

Matthew shifted minutely. It was true, he had skipped day but he didn't want to come across as over-eager or pushy.

"You just seem like an eager beaver." He added, an almost smirk gracing his features as Matthew seemed to bristle at his assumption.

"I was busy." The blond said coldly. "By the way, you sounded a little off-key."

Green eyes narrowed and everyone in the room seemed to still, breath bated.

Matthew merely smiled innocently, content in his knowledge of vocals (after hearing Angelique and Alfred go over the finer details of it with him. Also, he could carry a note. But very clumsily but at least he wasn't off-key. He just couldn't play anything.)

Instead, the older teen just laughed. "No need to get your knickers in a bunch. The sooner we start planning, the easier it gets." He stepped back from the microphone, idly scratching the back of his neck. "Good job, you lot. Much better than yesterday." He turned sharply on his heel, heading for the stairs. "Matthew, you're with me. The rest of you get the fuck out." He called over his shoulder.

Belle rolled her eyes.

"Nothing would please us more!" Antonio shouted back before adding, in a no less cheerful voice. "I think I hate him less at school."

"I hate him no matter where." Lovino grumbled, crumpling up Antonio's coat and throwing it at his face. "Hurry up. I want to stop by the market to pick up some tomatoes, bastard."

Gilbert chuckled and slapped Matthew hard on the shoulder. "Good luck with Kirkland, Matthew. He's an even bigger dick outside of school." He stood up and stretched, arching his back. "And more likely to shank you."

Matthew, internally freaking out, just nodded and barely managed to not beg the other teens to stay.

"Just don't mention anything French." Belle said kindly, striding over and snapping her fingers to get Will's attention. "Sometimes its just better to listen and nod."

"Have some courage." Willem added, holding the smaller, but still glowing, blunt to the boy's lips.

Oh, and did Matthew need some.

* * *

When Matthew finally gathered up the strength to accompany Belle and her brother upstairs, the Sex Pistols was blaring throughout the house and, after the pair left, he followed the music to its source, Arthur's room.

"Took you long enough." The teenager grumbled from where he was sprawled out on his bed, flipping through a magazine.

"Sorry." Matthew murmured, standing awkwardly just inside the room.

Thick brows raised slightly over the edge of the magazine before the teen lowered the publication just enough that his eyes were visible. "Sit down. I'm not going to bite, mate." He joked, gesturing to his bed.

Hesitantly, Matthew took a seat on the edge and waited until the other boy put down the magazine and turned his attention to him, expectantly.

"Yao was quite strict about cost control last year." Matthew began, wetting his lips, acutely aware of the fact that he was in an ideal situation (no one else in the house, Arthur not playing President, he had actually witnessed firsthand the strength of Arthur's band) and a voice (that sounded just like Alfred) was egging him on to do something sexy. It was just the fact that the other had done a near 180 degree personality switch that had him ready to flee. "He left us a fair amount for supplies this year and the budget doesn't need to be overhauled."

Arthur nodded. "But we still need funds for next semester and I'd like to leave a little something for next year as well. And some of the clubs are pressing for a little extra for supplies. Photography needs more chemicals to develop film. Debate needs a new podium." He scoffed. "Some idiot broke it."

Matthew didn't mention that the "idiot' was actually Alfred, who pounded his fist so hard onto the wood during an impassioned speech that his hand went through the material.

"And if we give some to them, then every other bloody club will be clamoring for a piece of the tart." The sandy-haired teen continued.

The Canadian was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to subconsciously twirl one of his curly strands. "Well." He began softly. "A bake sale—"

"Speak up, would you?" Arthur interrupted. "My ears are still ringing from practice."

Matthew pressed his lips together, eyes slightly narrowed but he complied, regardless. "A bake sale is the easiest and always does well. But it's kind of boring. Maybe we could do an auction. Recruit people and have other students buy them for a day?"

"So…legal slavery?" Arthur looked interested. "What if we don't get enough people?"

"Well, the four of us will be doing it for sure." Matthew grinned. "Imagine having the Student Council President as your own personal servant for the day." He teased, laughing when a sour look crossed Arthur's face. "We'll make a fortune off you alone."

The two continued to talk about finances and fund raising for the next hour, tossing around ideas until both agreed that an auction was the best.

"With sales to Homecoming and Fall Formal, we should have no problem gathering funds." Arthur explained with Matthew agreeing readily.

During a lull in the conversation, Matthew looked around the other's room, wondering how he could kick start a new conversation, seeing as how Arthur seemed to be getting bored now that they had tired out more pressing topics.

His eye caught a familiar name on the teetering stack of albums on the other's desk.

"You listen to Rush?" He asked.

Arthur glanced at him, looking up from his cell phone, and nodded. "Picked up their third album on a whim. They're not bad." He smirked at the blond. "I can get into any band that mixes Deep Purple, some Zeppelin, and Cream."

"I saw them in Toronto." Matthew said, excitedly, violet eyes gleaming.

It was rare that he found someone who knew of the bands he liked. Alfred tended to only remember Nickelback and Celine Dion.

Just because they weren't Aerosmith, didn't mean that they were crap.

That asshole.

But we digress.

"How was it?" Arthur asked, more interested now.

"So awesome."

With matching grins, the two began to chat anew, switching from bands to music genres (Arthur swore by punk rock and Matthew was more willing to give credit to more styles).

"That's shite." Arthur growled when Matthew laughed.

"Look, I'm not saying their album isn't great, but you're giving it way too much credit. It didn't change the 'face of rock' as we know it." The younger teen rolled his eyes.

Arthur snorted. "Uneducated cur." He said dismissively, slowly rising to his feet. "Lets finish this over a nice cuppa." He smirked at Matthew as the boy followed suit. "The least I can do before I thrash you and your woefully small knowledge of good music."

Matthew snorted indelicately. "I'd like to see you try."

* * *

"And he just wouldn't accept the fact that, maybe, just maybe Fludd had an influence on rock." Matthew ranted, lying on his back on Alfred's bed, his legs hanging off the side and his arms folded under his head.

His best friend, leaning against the headboard shoveling a concoction of Twinkies, sprinkles, whipped cream, and bubble gum ice cream, into his mouth merely grunted, letting the other teen vent.

"And he has a piercing!" The blond added.

"Oh yeah, that thing." Alfred grinned, licking his spoon. "He's pretty two-faced, isn't he?"

Matthew paused, blinking, before rolling over to push himself up by his elbows . "You still aren't over it." He stated flatly.

The other blond stilled, spoon clattering into the bowl. "I am." He stated firmly. "Just…trying to remind you to watch out, Matthew. He's not your friend. He's not anyone's friend. You even said his band mates weren't too fond of him."

Matthew was quiet. "You don't have to worry, Alfred." He said calmly. "I'm just getting close to him, making him trust me. We don't even know if this will work."

Alfred stared back at him, blue eyes a little skeptical as he tilted his head slightly. "Perhaps." He conceded, digging back into his sickeningly sweet treat.

* * *

Okie dokie, so both bands are now accounted for. Willem is Netherlands and Belle is Belgium. I did put some thought into who would be in the bands & I tried really hard not to put Gilbert & Francis with Arthur because that'd be too easy in my opinion. Also, I see Arthur as a total delinquent/jerk outside of school and a no-nonsense, strict, easily-angered guy at school. He isn't a complete douche, though.

So yeah...I kinda associate Arthur with Billy Idol. ...-looks away with a blush-

I have to ask, just to make sure I'm on the right track, ...still worth continuing?


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for all the support guys! Please enjoy this next installment!

Warnings: previous warnings apply, emphasis on OOC-ness, fail, lack of knowledge on a variety of subjects, AU

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew, mentioned others

Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia. I don't own Billy Idol either.

* * *

"So…" Belle began, a sly smirk dancing on her lips. The pretty blonde had one elbow on the cheap plastic table and her chin resting in her upturned palm as she stared down Arthur, green eyes devilish.

"What." The sandy-haired teen replied, flatly, not once looking up from his copy of _Wuthering Heights._

"Oh nothing." The girl chirped, already pulling out a Tupperware container of salad and an enormous chocolate bar.

"Bollocks." Arthur snapped, eyebrows furrowing, as he frowned over the edge of his novel, his concentration finally snapping. "Out with it, woman."

Belle frowned, her glossy lips pressing together. "You're such a charmer." She muttered, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to know how it went with Matthew."

"It went fine." The teen said curtly, his expression clearly telling her that her interest was unnecessary. "We discussed fund-raising and music."

"So you two got along?" She pressed, pointing at him with a fork. "His very existence doesn't grate on your easily inflamed patience?"

"Interestingly, no." Arthur gave her a strange look. "I fail to see how our interaction would butter your parsnips, so why—"

"Because Will took a shine to him and he called Matthew his 'kindred spirit' the entire way home and he was too busy fawning over him that he didn't even make lecherous advances towards the neighbor's daughters!" Belle rushed out. "He's found a new, healthier obsession in Matthew and maybe now he'll stop using those stupid binoculars of his to—"

Arthur raised his hand sharply and shook his head. "I do not need to know about your brother's illicit activities."

Belle slumped back. "Okay, okay." She took a steadying breath. "Matthew is a sweet boy. Gilbert, Will and even Lovino were all on their best behavior yesterday! He's a good-luck charm."

Arthur snorted and reached over to twist open his thermos to take a deep swig of Earl Grey. "Get on with it, Belle."

"Invite him to our gig tonight." Belle said seriously. "That way Will has a reason to not babysit the neighbor's kids."

"Are you barking mad?" The other teen asked incredulously.

"Matthew is a good guy."

"He's related to Francis and is Jones' best friend."

"And look at how normal he is!" Belle implored.

"And if he decides to spy for Jones?" Arthur countered. "Think of the band—"

"You said that we had nothing to worry about." The girl scowled. "And Matthew is just too nice to do something so underhanded." She angrily stabbed into her salad and pulled up a tuft of romaine to her lips. "Besides, you also said you'll be working together on the Student Council this year."

She angrily munched on her lunch, glaring at Arthur the entire time.

Arthur exhaled loudly, already knowing full well that it was futile to argue with Belle when she worked herself up enough. "Why don't you ask him?" He grumped, giving her a sour look.

Suddenly Belle blushed and looked down at her food. "O-oh I couldn't…" She said softly, now suddenly painfully girlish and shy. "It would be too forward of me…"

Arthur refrained from gagging.

* * *

"Matthew." Tino said pleasantly. "Why is Arthur Kirkland watching us practice? Specifically, why is he watching you practice?"

Matthew skidded to a halt, ice flying up around him. He looked back at Tino, a little confused. When the smaller teen pointed up at the stands, he followed the other's gesture and, indeed, there was Arthur, looking absolutely miserable in the cold temperature of the rink.

"Did you decide to go along with Alfred's crazy scheme?" Tino demanded, expression becoming less pleasant.

The entire team had stopped moving and now watched the proceedings with varying degrees of concern and interest.

"Um." Was the ever so eloquent response that slipped from Matthew's mouth.

"Does this mean you're going to start showing more leg?" Matthias called out.

"Abs'lutely n't." Berwald grumbled, shoving the knob of his hockey stick into the other's gut, eliciting a yelp.

Face pink, Matthew reluctantly skated over to Arthur, pulling off his helmet as he went.

"Hey." He said a little nervously, tapping the blade of his stick against the ice.

Arthur nodded at him and looked away, arms crossed. "We have a show tonight." He began awkwardly. "At Midtown. You should come. I mean…if you want or whatever." The older teen looked at the blond, then, green eyes now sharp. "But don't tell Jones."

* * *

"We totally have to go!" Alfred shouted, grabbing Matthew's shoulders and shaking the other teen roughly. "Lets recon the shit out of this opportunity!"

Matthew sighed. "We'll both be fucked if anyone sees you Al."

Blue eyes looked thoughtful for a brief moment. "I have an idea." Alfred said slowly, a grin spreading across his face.

Matthew felt a horrible sense of foreboding.

* * *

"This is, quite possibly, the weirdest idea you have ever had." Matthew said blandly.

"Shut up and help me adjust my tits." The other blond snapped, frustrated. "I'm lopsided."

Matthew sighed, long-sufferingly, and proceeded to grasp one of Alfred's 'breasts' (balloons filled with liquid gelatin) and tuck it back into the bright red bra his best friend had dug up from somewhere (probably a souvenir from a past girlfriend). Then, he did the same with the other 'breast'. With a critical eye, he grasped both and adjusted them a bit. "I'd say you're around a B-cup."

"Do either of you boys want…any…snacks…?"

Both boys' heads jerked to look over at the doorway where Alfred's father stood with wide eyes. Glancing at both boys (his son wearing a Booty Pop and bright red bra and the boy who might as well be his other son who was groping Alfred's chest), the older man just sighed quietly. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here for both of you. No judgment."

And then he shut the door quietly, leaving both teens to stare at the door.

"Well, that went well." Alfred said cheerfully, not at all phased. "I'll get the straightening iron and you pick out some eye shadow. Remember, I'm a summer."

"You're _insane_."

* * *

"Okay, here's the plan." Alfred whispered, leaning over the console and tugging Matthew close. "I go in first and you follow after. I'll hang in one of the dark corners. You go be your sexy self and we'll meet up, here, after the show." He paused, before adding. "Unless something goes horribly wrong, then we hightail it out ASAP." He grinned. "Okie dokie?"

"…Are you wearing perfume?"

The other blond rolled his eyes. "Matt. I'm in a dress, my hair is in clips, I have fake boobs, I'm wearing mascara, and you're unnerved by a little perfume?"

Matthew sighed, hanging his head, his blond locks shielding his face. "Alfred—"

"Alison."

The Canadian let his forehead slam against the steering wheel. "How far are we actually going to go?" He whined, pressing harder against the leather.

Alfred sighed and reached over, tilting back his friend's head and soothingly rubbed the reddening spot where Matthew had hit his head. "Bro…just say the word."

Leaning his head against the headrest, Matthew chanced another look at his friend who was idly picking at a loose string on his cardigan.

"What really happened?" He asked softly. Granted, he knew the gist of it, but he always felt like what he knew wasn't a good enough explanation.

"I got kicked out of the band. Artistic differences and no compromise." Alfred answered tonelessly.

"Al."

"Apparently I didn't take it seriously enough. I didn't want it enough." The other snorted derisively. "The only thing I didn't want was that dick's fascist bitchiness. So I left."

Not enough reassurance that this wasn't uncalled for, but enough for now.

Matthew purposely turned off the ignition. "Lets go and show him how much you want it, then."

* * *

"You're here!" Belle cried as soon as Matthew wandered his way up to the front of the club/bar/thing (no one was really sure to be honest, but it was 17 and up). The brunette ran up to him and threw her arms around him.

"Too forward my arse." Arthur scoffed, idly drumming the table.

"Hi Belle." Matthew said, somewhat shyly. He wasn't really faking. He really did get shy around Belle (she tended to be very touchy).

"I thought you said Alfred wasn't allowed here?" Antonio asked.

"That's not Jones." Will stood up, his orange shirt garish despite the dim lighting. "Matt." He not so gently dislodged his sister and pulled the shorter teen to his side. "Don't mind Antonio. He's an idiot."

"Hey!"

Lovino, dressed sharply in a grey button down and dark slacks, snickered.

"Come on, stop fannying around." Arthur interrupted, standing up and brushing off his leather duster. "We'll be on in a bit."

"Good to see you too, Arthur." Matthew said with a magnanimous smile, inwardly annoyed by the other's brusqueness.

The senior, caught by the frostiness in the other's violet eyes, paused before a vaguely apologetic look crossed his face. Nevertheless, he walked off without a word.

"Don't mind him." Belle said quietly. "He always gets like this before a gig. He's not that bad. If you get to know him—"

Alfred liked to joke that Matthew should use take over the world with how cute and unassuming he seemed.

(Matthew usually punched him in the face before saying, "How's that for cute, eh?")

Maybe it was time to try out that little idea.

"I'd like to." Matthew said innocently. "But I don't think he likes me very much." And, with that, he glanced down at his worn sneakers, sighing a little dejectedly.

Belle was looking at him, as though her own heart was breaking for him.

"Don't feel bad, not-Alfred." Antonio soothed. "He doesn't like anyone very much."

Even Lovino looked a little sympathetic and Will muttered, "that bastard" and pulled Matthew closer.

"You know what? I'll talk to him." Belle nodded, a frighteningly determined look in her eyes. "Right before we go on. Come on, Antonio."

And with that, she stormed off with the curly-haired boy in tow.

* * *

"Do you have to be such a jerk!" Belle hissed from behind her drum set as the group waited for the curtain to be raised. "He looked like a kicked puppy! A kicked puppy!"

"Stupid bird." Arthur muttered under his breath. "You think I'm trying to be an arse on purpose?" He growled.

"Yes!"

"For fuck's sake! I'm not!" He whirled around, glaring. "The bloke's just so soft-looking like a bunny-rabbit or something! Then he argues with me over The Clash and now he's turned back into some cute, pretty little thing. I don't know how the bloody fuck I'm supposed to treat him."

"How about nicely?" Belle suggested, a sardonic twist to her voice.

"I haven't called him a 'git' yet have I?" The singer challenged. "What else would you have me do?"

"Get to know him."

"We're already working together—"

"—_THE RIPPERS!_"

Swearing lightly, Arthur turned forward again as Belle quickly started up a beat.

"Why, hello, hello, my lovelies." Arthur purred, a dashing smirk on his face.

* * *

The crowd, which had been steadily growing, burst into applause and a few more excited people (women, mostly) burst into shrieks as soon as the Brit spoke.

"So he has a following." Alfred mumbled moodily, slurping his drink and discreetly fixing his bra. "Big-fucking-whoop."

* * *

"_Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door. Last night a little angel came pumpin' cross my floor._" Arthur began, green eyes narrowed, foot tapping in time to Belle's drums. "_She said ' come on baby I got a license for love…and if it expires pray help from above.'_" He shouted, "_In the midnight hour she cried—'more more more'_" His voice was so low, snaking throughout the audience.

And the crowd seemed to love it.

And Arthur seemed to love that the crowd loved it.

With Will's arm protectively around his shoulder, Matthew watched as Arthur, hands gripped around the microphone clip, swayed with the throbbing music, forcing himself onto the stand, one lean black-denim clad leg wrapped around it, as he leaned closer to the crowd.

"_With a rebel yell she cried—'more more more'!_"

Belle's face was intensely focused. The other males didn't mirror her concentration however. Antonio, perhaps dressed the more conservatively of the three, was mouthing something at the crowd (and whatever it was, Lovino looked _pissed_).

Arthur, who had abandoned his leather duster by this point, was wearing a skin-tight black shirt as he prowled the stage, dark and dangerous and too much charisma and Matthew felt his cheeks heat up when heated eyes swiveled towards him.

"_I'd sell my soul for you…babe. For money to burn with you, I'd give you all, and have none, babe._"

"I…I need some water!" Matthew said hurriedly, shooting to his feet as Will gave him a concerned look, spinning on his heel and dashing towards the back where the lights weren't flashing like lightning and the music didn't thrum like thunder and where he could finally breathe.

He nearly fell against the counter, gaining a concerned look from other teenagers and the workers.

"J-just water." He smiled shakily, hopefully charmingly.

"He's got one helluva stage presence, huh?" A husky voice giggled from beside him.

"Allll—ison." The violet-eyed teen tried not to look too relieved when Alfred (still incognito and not lopsided, amazingly) winked heavily done eyes at him (in what he assumed was a flirtatious manner, but it could've been a twitch).

Behind them, the crowd chanted "_more, more, more_".

"So…what's the word, hummingbird?" Alfred asked with a bright smile. "They're good, aren't they?"

"…He couldn't transition into some of the lower notes that smoothly." Matthew said quietly. "Antonio plays too slowly sometimes. Belle plays too fast other times. But all that is negligible."

"We have to up our game." The other blond agreed, a slight pout on his face. "They have two more guaranteed songs after this. More than likely, the crowd will demand a third—I mean, they did with us."

Alfred and his band had played a few weekends ago, under a temporary name ("The Alfred Clam Society Experience").

(Not their best name. It was after this gig that the rest of the band learned not to trust Alfred with naming anything.)

"Now, Mattie." Alfred slugged the other teen lightly in the arm. "Man up and get your ass back there."

* * *

Arthur is a pimp. Trufax.

Author!notes:

Haha, so, I was looking up character heights the other day. America (and Canada because they're sorta twinsies) is only an inch or so taller than England. France and England are around the same height. NO ONE IS A SLIP OF A MOE-BLOB UKE. -world crashes around her- So I decided to run with that to make Arthur as sexy as you can possibly make a huge eyebrowed, foul-tempered former delinquent.

Thank goodness he went through that punk phase and once owned most of the world. Whew~

Anyways, Matthew apparently can't deal with a little sex appeal. -evil smirk- By the way, Matt and Alfred will have a glorious bromance, in this fic, that is so BEAUTIFUL, STRONG & MANLY that it comes only once every three hundred decades. Yes.

Oh and Matt will struggle with what he's doing. And, yes, Belle wants Matthew to be a good influence on her little girl chasing, druggie brother. She will push those two together, even if she has to strong-arm Arthur. (Arthur is too much of a gentleman to tell her to fuck off.) Also, I will make light of issues that shouldn't be treated lightly. I hope that doesn't offend anyone. Also, there will be few if zero flashbacks. Normally my stories employ flashbacks heavily. This time, I won't include past scenes. Characters will just reveal the past, so you'll never really have the full story.

By the way, I worked in cross-dressing. Except its Al who will do anything to take England down. (1776 all over again, bi-atches). Maybe Matt will wear a dress soontimes. -evil smirk- I've been listening to French radio for the past week. My inner pervert is clawing to get out. Seriously, anyone who reads "Want You to Want Me"...GET EXCITED.

By and by, feel free to throw in music suggestions (lest we all tire of Billy Idol soon) and music help in case I'm failing a lot. I once played the violin...and that's it. I'm musically retarded but I do have a good ear. I'm just inept at playing things. So I write instead...yay?


	6. Chapter 6

Hi ya'll! Thanks so much for all the song suggestions. I'm sorting through them slowly but feel free to keep suggesting music! I appreciate it guys!

Also, there seems to be some fear that I will abandon USCan and, let me just say, never fear dear readers. Don't get me wrong, I love UKCan but USCan will always have a special place in my heart. Unfortunately, I'm facing some writer's block on my USCan stories and UKCan is just coming easier (hence me updating this now instead of other chapter fics and despite my last USCan ones-shot). Also, I put the poll up in hopes to point in which direction to update. However, there is a tie. :/ As awesome as that is, I'm gonna keep the poll up longer and wait so I have more time to organize my thoughts. So, if any of my USCan readers are following this, VOTE please~

And maybe, just maybe, there will be a surprise on New Years. ;)

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew

Warnings: AU, all previous warnings

Disclaimer: No ownership of either Hetalia or Flyleaf's "I'm sick".

* * *

"Are you wearing eyeliner?" Matthew asked suddenly, pausing in his rapid scribbling of notes as the teacher droned in the background.

Alfred, who had been cheerfully babbling on about this new song he had written for the band and how awesome it would be and how it would totally blow stupid Arthur and his band's music out of the water because his music was shitty and _gross_, just shrugged and, completely nonchalant, replied, "I thought it really brought out my eyes."

The other student just stared at him before shaking his head slowly. "Whatever makes you happy." Matthew said faintly, turning back to the front, coming to terms with the fact that his best friend took more to heart than expected from the Cosmo he perused to figure out his make-up color scheme.

To get his attention back, Alfred began to scoot over, desk and all, until it was in line with Matthew's. Then, slapping the desk loudly, the blond said, "Matt."

Matthew's eye twitched, but other than that he refused to acknowledge the other.

"Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt." Alfred repeated, cobalt eyes (standing out thanks to the eyeliner) boring holes in his friend's face. "This is about Operation Limey Seduction."

Gritting his teeth, Matthew turned to look at Alfred. "Please stop saying that out loud." When Alfred just looked at him, the Canadian sighed. "What?"

"We need to up your game." Alfred whispered conspiratorially. "You've already managed to seduce Belle and her brother—"

"I did not—"

"Any closer and he would've been _in_ you, Matt." The other teen rolled his eyes, remembering how Willem had practically melded himself to Matthew's side at the show. "Anyhoo, brosideon, I think you need to make yourself Arthur's friend. You already made your self known, but now he needs to get to know you."

Matthew sighed, drumming his desk nervously. "Okay."

"…Okay?" The other blond gave him a confused half-grin. "You got a plan?"

"Yeah…" the Canadian trailed off, squirming slightly. "You might not like it."

He had been thinking about it ever since he and Alfred left the concert late a few nights ago. Arthur and he had, at best, a professional relationship. Belle issued his standing invitation to their practices and Matthew had no doubt that it was because of Willem. Arthur had invited him once, in the beginning, so that they could discuss Student Council affairs. Well, they had exhausted all topics in that first meeting. After introducing the idea of the auction to be held in the winter, the entire Council would work together to organize it.

Alfred was right (Matthew had crossed himself at this point, reciting, what he hoped, was a semi-correct recitation of a long forgotten prayer) when he said that he and Arthur needed to get to know each other. One discussion on music was hardly enough to base a relationship on—not that Matthew was aiming for a real relationship but even fake "hitting and quitting it" repulsed him.

Frankly, he didn't even know if Arthur would ever put a relationship before the band. Alfred, when he did manage to land a girl, would always place a greater importance on music and cocaine (and Matthew, but that was just understood).

But in order to find out, he'd have to spend more time with Arthur. And less with Alfred.

"Probably not." Alfred agreed. "But hit me anyways, baby."

"I won't come to band practice anymore."

Alfred's face was neutral. "Okay."

"And no more skipping classes to joyride and doodle genitalia on your baseball coach's mailbox."

The briefest grimace fluttered across the other's face. "…Fine." He grit out.

"…And no more post-practice burgers."

Cobalt eyes widened behind steel-rimmed glasses and that was all the warning Matthew received before Alfred shot to his feet, sending his desk toppling to the floor, wailing, "NOOOOOOO!"

* * *

"Where's Alfred?" Steven asked, dropping his bag as he took an open seat next to Matthew.

Matthew, who was cradling his face in his hands, just muttered, "Principal's office."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

* * *

"What are you looking for, _mon cher rosbif?_" Francis asked, chin cradled in his hand.

Arthur, who was craning his neck and searching around the cafeteria, ignored the teen.

"He'd better be trying to find Matthew to apologize to him." Belle said shortly, snapping her chocolate bar in half and offering some to Francis.

It had taken the combined glares and nagging of Belle and Willem (with Lovino's hissed insults and Antonio's pseudo-innocent comments) to force Arthur into agreeing to be nice to Matthew and apologize for, basically, being himself.

"Only if I can eat it from your delicate fingers." The French student purred, azure eyes hooded. "And lick the crumbs from your fingerprints."

Belle looked disturbed.

"I can't find him." Arthur grumbled, sitting back. "Well, it can't be helped."

"Whom are you searching for?" Francis asked, watching Belle chomp on her chocolate with keen eyes.

"Matthew."

"_Mathieu_?" Francis visibly perked up before his eyes narrowed. "Why do you want him?" He asked, casually, one slender eyebrow quirked.

"To apologize." Belle answered. "For being a dick." Suddenly, she sat a little straighter. "There he is."

* * *

Matthew and Steven entered the lunchroom together, with Matthew relaying his dilemma to the Australian.

"It'll be alright, mate. Art isn't so bad." Steven clapped a hand on the other's shoulder. "Just be yourself. Even if he doesn't feel the same, he won't be a total arse. Maybe half an arse."

Matthew, though he felt guilty about lying to his friend, knew he couldn't share the plan with rest of the band.

Besides, Kiku already had his storyline for his doujinshi.

"_Mathieu_!" An accented voice called out and immediately said teen froze.

"_Crisse._" He swore. "Its Francis, isn't it?"

"Bad luck for you." Steven whistled lowly.

"Maybe if I ignore him—"

"I have pictures of our tryst!" The French student pressed on, casually waving a handful of Polaroids in the air and Matthew could almost make out the images even from across the cafeteria. "I have one of you coming out of the shower~"

Matthew had never even moved so fast on the ice.

"Give me those." He hissed, humiliation coloring his cheeks scarlet. He snatched the pictures, pointedly not looking at them, and proceeded to shove them into his book bag.

"It is fine. I have copies." Francis looked wounded, a hand placed strategically over his heart. "Why you continue to deny our obvious attraction, _chaton,_ is beyond me."

"Maybe because it does not exist and because you are a whore." Arthur said flatly. Standing up, he turned to Matthew and ignored Francis's noise of outrage. "I have no desire to eat slop today. And, you would do me a great honor if you allowed me to take you out for lunch."

Belle cleared her throat and whispered, "And?"

"As an apology for my behavior." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I'd love to." Matthew responded, forcing himself not to chicken out. This was a prime opportunity, on a silver plate to boot.

"Brilliant." The older student gave him a small smile. "Chivvy along then, mate."

* * *

"You drive a station wagon?" Matthew sniggered, fingers pressed against his lips as though to stop the snickers.

"It makes transporting the instruments a snap." The student retorted, the palest of blushes on his cheeks. "Just get in, you sod."

Once both boys were seated, Arthur quickly turned the key and the engine roared to life, the stereo already blaring _Anarchy in the UK._

"Got a preference?" The sandy-haired student asked, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Radio." Matthew said absently, already reaching for the dial.

"Oi!" Arthur slapped at the other's hand. "I meant for grub." He gave the other a sidelong look. "Got a problem with the Sex Pistols, Matthew?"

"Oh, so you remember my name now." The other responded, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I stare at your picture in the yearbook every night and repeat your name." Arthur replied, face stoic. "Practice makes perfect."

"…That's a little creepy." Was what slipped out.

The corner's of the other student's lips quirked briefly. "Well, I do try."

* * *

"Crisps?" Arthur asked, not even waiting for a response as he tossed the bag towards Matthew. "And they only had turkey. Hope you don't mind."

"Ah, no, thank you." Matthew replied, knees coming up to catch the bag of chips as he took the proffered sandwich.

"Was going to take you to this little place that serves amazing curry, but apparently the health department shut it down." The green-eyed teen continued, taking a seat next to the blond on the park bench the two had claimed.

"Pity." Matthew murmured, unwrapping the submarine sandwich, absently licking his fingers clean of the mayonnaise that had smeared along the edges.

"Use a napkin." Arthur scolded, handing over some cheap paper napkins. "Honestly, we're not heathens."

Matthew snorted derisively but took the napkins anyways.

The two sat in relative silence, the only noises the sound of chewing and crumpling of plastic and the crunch of chips. Matthew's knee bounced up and down, his heel tapping against the ground every other beat. His fingers, gripping the sandwich, trembled ever so because he couldn't help but wonder what now.

What should he say? Should he play coy or just let go? How does one go about flirting and wooing and similar nonsense?

"So…apology accepted?" Arthur asked, green eyes staring straight ahead.

"I…well…" Matthew licked his lips and stared at his sandwich. "There was really no reason for you to apologize." He admitted.

"Belle seemed to think so. Bint is of the opinion that I've been a right bastard to you." Arthur sat back, crumbling up the empty wrapper of his sandwich and dropping it to the ground. "Didn't mean to offend, mate. I'm a bastard to everyone."

Matthew laughed softly, just a soft burst of air snuffed through his nose. "I've noticed." He toed the ground, kicking lightly at the cracked dirt. "You're our straight-laced President during school and a punk rocker after, yet you remain an asshole through the day."

The older teen gave him a surprised look before letting out a bark of laughter. "You're one of the last people I would peg as sharp-tongued, Matthew."

"Never judge a book by its cover." Matthew scolded playfully, the other's favorable reaction to his harsh words easing his nerves.

"I'll keep that in mind." Arthur mused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Maybe you should as well."

* * *

"_I'm so sick! Hear it, I'm screaming it!"_ Angelique nearly snarled into the microphone, both hands clasped tight around the stand as she leant forward. "_You're heeding to it now!"_

"Stop! Just stop guys." Alfred shouted, his voice tired as he plucked his bass strings roughly. "Our sound sucks right now."

"Probably because you're making us jump from song to song." Angelique grumbled, turning around and glaring at the blond. "He is not here, get over it!" She scolded, moving away from the mike stand, hips swaying, and snatched up her water bottle.

"We have, like, six weeks to become better than perfect." Alfred snapped, cobalt eyes hard. "If you can't handle it, Angie, we can always find another singer."

Angelique giggled. "Oh, really, Alfred darling?" Her sweet smile twisted into a scowl. "I'd like to see you do so."

"That's enough you two." Steven cut in after slamming down on the cymbals. He twirled his drumsticks between his fingers, his light green eyes concerned. "Alfred doesn't mean it, Angie love, so don't fuss. Alfred, I know you're under stress—hell we all are, mate. But fighting isn't going to help. We can only win this as a team."

"He is right." Kiku added, softly. "Though I agree both of you have reason to be angry."

Angelique and Alfred looked at each other, thoughtfully and a little miffed still, but eventually sighed, turning back to their respective spots. "Fine." They huffed in unison.

"Where is Matthew anyways?"

"Off to woo a beast." Steven supplied, chuckling. "Never thought he'd go for Arthur, of all people. But apparently one one-on-one was enough."

"But Matthew is too nice." Angelique pouted. "Arthur is a jerk."

"You speak the truth sister." Alfred muttered, strumming thoughtlessly on his bass. He hurried to hide a snort of laughter. "Maybe its true love."

"I still can't see it." Steven mused. "Always thought Matthew would go for…well…" He looked meaningfully at Alfred.

Alfred just stared at Steven. Then he glanced behind him. Then he looked back at the Australian. "Huh?"

"If anything, they make a fine match." Kiku said softly, pulling a notebook out from under his keyboard. "Matthew is a soft-spoken, gentle boy. Arthur is a gruff, often vulgar delinquent type. Matthew will soften Arthur's harsh demeanor and Arthur will protect Matthew with his life."

"This is starting to sound like a trashy novel." Steven said bluntly.

Kiku held up a piece of paper and the other three teens leaned close to get a good look at it.

"Well, when you draw it that way…I guess they work." Steven said slowly, before his eyes registered what he was seeing. "Crikey!" He swore, dragging the brim of his hat down over his eyes. "That's my cousin, mate!"

"Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Alfred shrieked, already covering his eyes. "Not cool, Kiku! Now I need to bleach my brain!" He wailed, staggering away, thanking the heavens that Matthew was just faking like a champ and not actually making Bambi eyes at his (Alfred's) arch-nemesis.

"Can Matthew really bend that way?" Angelique asked, her dark brown eyes wide and fascinated. She reached out as if to touch the writhing bodies, but Kiku pulled his artwork away.

"You'll smudge it." He stated sternly.

* * *

"Arthur is in the library."

Matthew gasped, slamming his locker shut in surprise. "Al!"

"Yo." The other blond grinned, leaning against the cold metal. "He's in the library. Another good opportunity." He waggled his eyebrows. "I heard about your little lunch date. I think you're on your way in." He sang brightly.

"You owe me so big." Matthew reminded, rolling his eyes. "How was practice?" He asked curiously, already heading to the library. He had free period next anyways.

"A little rocky." Alfred admitted, falling into stride next to the other blond.

"How so?" Matthew asked, already concerned. "You guys haven't broke up, have you?"

"Nah." Alfred stuffed his hands into his pocket, ducking his head a bit. "We just…" He trailed off, laughing humorlessly. "Its cool, man. Hakuna matata."

"You saw Dr. Edelstein yesterday too?"

"I said, hakuna matata. It means no worries, Mattie."

Matthew gave him a 'I don't believe you but I'll humor you" look and came to a halt, just in front of the library. "Just take it easy."

"And you, just stay cool." Alfred squeezed Matt's shoulder comfortingly. "Stay the course. No pressure." His grip, for the briefest moment, tightened and Matthew almost winced.

* * *

Arthur had his head buried in his copy of _Beowulf_ when Matthew tapped him on the shoulder, asking, "This seat taken?"

"Not at all." The older student said, grinning and stretching back, kicking out the chair across from him, nodding at it. "Sit."

Matthew gave him a quick smile, dropping his book bag to the table and sitting down. "Are you ready for the test?" He pulled out his own copy of _Beowulf_.

"Of course." He responded, in a no-nonsense voice. Then he paused, glancing at the other with sharp eyes. "Are you?"

Matthew thought of his handwritten study guide and pile of notecards listing out the themes and symbols (potential and obvious) sitting on his desk back home.

Then he thought of Alfred. Then he thought of Arthur. Then he thought of Lindsey Lohan in _Mean Girls_ lying through her teeth about sucking at Math to get the cute guy.

Eh, close enough.

"I'm going to fail." Matthew lamented, violet eyes downcast.

"Only if you give up." The other teen reprimanded. "We'll start with themes. Give me an example and we'll discuss it." He looked at Matthew, raising one prominent, furry eyebrow. "Well? Take out a bloody notebook and lets get on with it."

* * *

Outside the library, three seniors were spying on the pair in the hallway, each peering through a window.

"Didn't know Matt liked the cock." Gilbert said thoughtfully, palms pressed against the glass of the library window, his nose smooshed against it as well.

"Oh so that's not Alfred?" Antonio looked surprised.

"He wears sweater vests and does not pluck his eyebrows." Francis scowled. "And my only fault is that I am his cousin."

"…I actually can't blame Matt for holding that against you."

"I am surprised that Matthew is getting so close to Kirkland. Didn't he and Alfred have a falling out?"

"What does he see in that hooligan?"

"Well, he's in a band. That's hot. I've fucked people for less."

"Didn't you date him, Francis?" Antonio asked innocently, green eyes gleaming.

"Momentary lapse of judgment." The blond said shortly as Gilbert snickered in the background. "We swore to never bring it up again."

"Maybe Matt just likes bad boys."

All three boys' heads whipped around to see who the new arrival to their party was.

"Elizaveta?" The albino student asked incredulously, his friends staring at the brunette in confusion behind him.

"This is the hottest new might-be pairing since Yao and Ivan." She pressed more against the class, giggling. "And with so much more potential and cliché and opportunities than Alfred and Matthew." The girl added, "You should see Kiku's new art."

All three boys looked disturbed.

* * *

Happy holidays guys! Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

The next big update will either be this story or "Want You to Want Me". To be honest, for this story, I want to get to the horny adolescent making out. :I I regret _nothing._ I know what's going to happen and I know at what point. But I'm trying not to rush the whole thing. To be honest though, I've seen people get together for far less in high school. So...yay for that.

Warnings: previous warnings, OOCness, fail

Pairing: eventual UK/Can

Disclaimer: Thank goodness I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

"Are you okay with this?" Elizaveta screeched, slamming her hand—palm down—flat onto the plastic lunch table. Her normally gentle eyes were blazing as she leaned down to glare straight into Alfred's face.

The blond American, having just shoved a handful of onion rings into his mouth, just stared at her blankly before replying, "'uh?" and accidently spewing some fried onion bits onto the table.

Kiku sighed long-sufferingly and Steven snickered.

The older girl huffed in annoyance and grasped the teen by his hair and forcibly turned his head towards the entrance of the lunchroom where Matthew was entering with Arthur. "You are going to just sit there and let Kirkland steal your uke? Or are you going to go have a sexy fight for dominance of…" She paused, clearing trying to remember Matthew's name. "…of…that adorable blob of moe." She smacked the table again. "Go do something!"

Alfred began to laugh again (this time spewing more bits of onion ring across the table) as he watched the pair of boys interact. The rest of the teenagers just stared at him.

Really, if they only knew why, they'd be laughing too.

"You seem to be taking this incredibly well, mate." Steven began slowly, idly rubbing at his shark band-aid. "Don't you hate Arthur?"

Now Alfred's giggles began to taper off as he began to pick up on the situation.

"Of course I hate that douche." The American retorted. "He's a douche."

"And yet you're okay with your best friend getting some British cock?"

Alfred froze, blue eyes flickering from face to face. And then he glanced over at Matthew who was doing his part damn well. And then he knew if he wasn't careful, he could ruin everything. And Matthew would've whored himself out for nothing.

And then, he thought of Dr. Edelstein telling him that lying would only cause more trouble. But what did that guy know? And, besides, it would be okay.

'Cause Alfred was American.

And he wanted to kick some ass, take names, and reign supreme at Battle of the Bands. Fuck yeah.

He laughed shortly and gave the other three a skeptical look. "You guys need to get your eyes checked. Mattie would never go for Arthur."

"But he said—"

"Matthew is my best friend." And he's only with Arthur for me, Alfred reminded himself.

"You're jealous." Elizaveta cooed, blushing. "Because competition has appeared."

"What? No!" Alfred shook his head, mentally patting himself on the back because he was so awesome at this lying through his ass stuff. "And its hilarious you think so."

"…They're holding hands."

Okay, now Alfred's head whipped around, because for the briefest second he forgot that was a good thing. "Motherfucker!"

"Threesome." Elizaveta murmured reverently as the American shot to his feet and stormed over to the pair.

"Please stop drawing Kiku." Steven pleaded, catching sight of the Japanese boy's newest picture of Alfred and Arthur…sharing Matthew…enthusiastically.

"Its for my portfolio." The dark-eyed boy responded unapologetically.

* * *

"GET AWAY FROM HIM PERVERT." Is the only warning Arthur receives before a blur of blond crashes into his side.

Both boys tumble onto the ground, Arthur still stunned from the collision and Alfred intent on pummeling the other's face into the ground.

Matthew, rubbing his hand from where Arthur was literally torn from his grip (he had just tripped and Arthur had grabbed his hand to keep him from falling on his face), just stared in shock as Alfred continues to shout at the Brit for "stealing Mattie" and threatening him with bodily harm if he continues to pursue the Canadian.

* * *

"…Your nose is bleeding." Steven pointed out.

"It happens." Elizaveta waved her hand dismissively, taking the napkin Kiku wordlessly hands her. "Now shut up and let me enjoy this."

_

* * *

From: Alfred_

_Message: I WON, BITCHES_

_From: Matthew_

_Message: …_

_From: Alfred_

_Message: Wat? Too much?_

_From: Matthew_

_Message: You gave him a black eye and got three days suspension._

_From: Alfred_

_Message: …so I didn't beat my record?_

_From: Matthew_

_Message: You're missing the point._

_From: Alfred_

_Message: Ur face is missing the point_

_From: Matthew_

_Message: …Not your best comeback_

* * *

"Sorry about Al." Matthew said quietly, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to the British teenager who was lying back on a long, black couch.

Arthur snorted humorlessly, shifting slightly causing the cheap paper covering the couch to crinkle noisily. "Don't apologize for that twat."

Matthew, whose first instinct was to defend the other boy, bit his lip and reached out, taking hold of the ice pack against Arthur's eye and pulling it back. He gasped, taking in the mottled purple and green around the other's eye socket and frowned. "You're going to have quite the shiner."

"It'll make me look more hardcore." The sandy-haired boy smirked, green eyes flickering to look at the younger teen whose face was twisted in worry. "Oi. Don't make that face, mate. I'm not dying."

Violet eyes widened slightly and a pale blush tore across the bridge of Matthew's nose. "I'm not making a face." He snapped, crossly, and pressed the ice pack back to the bruised area roughly, earning a hiss of pain. "…Sorry."

"Even when you're being a knob, you're still polite." Arthur mused.

"It's a gift." The blond replied wryly.

* * *

"My sources tell me you were playing Nurse and Patient with Arthur." Gilbert said with a smirk as he skidded to a halt next to Matthew during practice. "Didn't know you went for bad-boy Brits."

"First time you show up to practice in forever and it's to give me a hard time." Matthew muttered, flicking his blond hair from his face.

The silver-haired teenager, one of the best agitators on the high school hockey circuit, just grinned smugly and leisurely followed as Matthew skated away. "You know you've just given Elizaveta damp panties for the rest of the year, right? She's already going on about a threesome between you and Jones and Artie."

"Never going to happen."

"I thought the same about you and Arthur. What the hell, Matt?"

Matthew paused, turning around to face his teammate, his breath frosting in the cold air of the rink. He frowned, wishing that albino would just drop it so he wouldn't be forced to lie (and actually have to face the truth of what he was doing), just muttered, tiredly, "Let it go, Gil."

"Actually, I'd like to hear why too." Tino said merrily from behind him. And soon, the rest of the team had gathered.

"Th'y gr'w 'p s' f'st." Berwald sniffed, face crestfallen. Matthias threw a comforting arm around the taller teen's shoulders but it was promptly shrugged off.

Matthew looked around at the teens, feeling frustrated. "Maybe I actually like him?" He suggested icily.

"Do you?" Tino asked casually. "Or does Alfred—"

Fear bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, Matthew quickly cut in, grasping for words in his terror at being cornered, "It has nothing to do with that." He said pointedly, falsehood coming quickly now. "I just like him."

"His eyebrows though."

"They're not that bad." Matthew sighed, earning a chorus of gasps. Then, his stomach turned when he realized that he was being honest.

The thought of those overgrown eyebrows didn't seem to bother him as much now…

_Tabarnak._

* * *

"Artie may or may not have been in a gang with me." Gilbert said casually, leaning his back against the locker next to Matthew after the rest of the team had filed out. "He may or may not have gotten Yao hooked on some hard shit. He may or may not have made junior high a living hell for everyone. He also may or may not have killed a man, I don't really know but the guy just kind of disappeared after pissing off Arthur."

Matthew looked at the older teen curiously, one hand poised to slam his locker shut.

"He may or may not have tried to drown Antonio in the swimming pool. He may or may not have been—"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're still the new kid, Matt." Gilbert shrugged, crimson eyes almost bored. "And you should know what you're getting into. Artie isn't so bad—otherwise he wouldn't have been voted President even if Francis's platform was free condoms and optional clothing."

Matthew's grip on the locker tightened, the edge of the metal digging into his palm.

"I'd say he's changed but it's hard to tell sometimes."

* * *

"_I won't suffer, be broken, get tired or wasted._" Arthur sang slowly, hands gripping the mike, one foot tapping slowly. "_Surrender to nothing, or give up what I—started and stopped it, from end to beginning._"

Matthew listened quietly, standing in the doorway of the basement as the Brit sang to an invisible crowd. Belle had let him in since he had arrived late (having been wondering if he should show up at all). In the end, he had visited Alfred and scolded him for his stunt earlier that day. The lecture took two hours longer than he thought and it had taken another twenty minutes to get Alfred to stop crying.

"You couldn't have shown your disapproval some other way?" Matthew had sighed.

"Not without being lame." Alfred had sniffled.

"_Run away, run away, I'll attack! Run away, run away, go change yourself!_" Arthur continued to sing loudly, unmindful of the empty instruments behind him or of Matthew's presence. His voice sounded gruff on some notes but overall he sounded smooth, holding notes longer than even Angelique could. Rather than sounding like a sensual purr, he actually sounding like he was singing and not oozing sex appeal all over the place.

He had a good voice. Better suited for louder, rougher songs. Angelique had a wider range but Arthur's narrower ability allowed his band to keep a single sort of sound. The Boonrock Saints were still experimenting.

As Arthur hit the second chorus, his voice cracked and he swore, kicking the microphone stand and stepping away, dragging his fingers raggedly through his choppy hair.

"Always the same bloody part." He snarled lowly.

"Maybe you need a break?" Matthew said quietly, heart pounding as he stepped forward. "You'll wear out your voice."

Arthur turned around, his eye looking more bruised in the bright light. He sneered, "Why do you care? You're Jones's little cheerleader aren't you?"

A hurt look flashed across Matthew's face at the disdain in the other's voice, the accusations hitting closer to home than desired. "Yeah, well why am I here then?" He retorted, licking his lips nervously.

"Why are you here?" Arthur challenged, stepping forward, directing his frustrations towards the other.

"I-I…wanted to thank you." Matthew said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "For helping me earlier today. I feel better about the test."

Which wasn't entirely untrue.

Arthur stared at him, emerald eyes studying his expression critically. Then, his expression softened. "You're welcome." He fidgeted slightly, looking away to study the floor. "…Want to stay for dinner?"

* * *

"Don't be such a wanker. Just eat it."

"But what is _it_?"

"Its stew, you sod."

"That is not what stew looks like."

"Oi! I invite you for supper and this is how you behave?"

"I didn't think you were going to try and kill me."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"Its solid, Arthur. _Solid._"

"If I told you it was pudding—"

"No."

"Its not bad—"

"No."

"Don't be such a child."

"Get the spoon aw—ugggh"

* * *

"I'm not exactly the best cook."

"You think?" Matthew grumbled, curled up in the passenger seat of Arthur's station wagon as the pair pulled up to the drive through window. "I want French fries." He pouted.

"I thought you were feeling sick."

"French fries."

Arthur rolled his eyes, giving his order to the disgruntled worker. "Add a strawberry milkshake too, love. I'm in the doghouse, it would seem."

When the woman handed them their order and Arthur passed over the icy drink with a well-intended scoff, Matthew could have sworn his heart fluttered just a bit.

* * *

"I get my best ideas for song lyrics here." Arthur began, leaning against his windshield with his legs stretched out on the brown hood.

Matthew, sitting the same way and dutifully wiping his salty fingers on a paper napkin, just listened quietly as the other teen stared off at the inky sky.

"Its beautiful." The blond mused when his companion didn't say anything else. He stared up at the twinkling stars against the dark sky. "I didn't think you could see the sky clearly anywhere in this city. It reminds me of home."

Arthur's lips twisted into a smug smile. "You're welcome, Matthew."

Elbowing the other lightly in the side, Matthew picked up his milkshake, pausing only to wipe the condensation off his fingers on his jeans, and sipped it thoughtfully.

"Wonder what this place looks like during the day…" He trailed off.

"I can show you later this week…if you want."

Matthew glanced over at the other boy, his lips curving downwards. "You don't have to."

"What if I want to?" Arthur asked quietly, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

The guilt, which Matthew had successfully shoved away, began to gnaw at his insides.

And, alongside it, was the slow unfurling of something a little softer.

* * *

"I aced the test." Matthew said with a bright smile, ignoring the nagging voice inside him that was reminding him that he was never in any trouble to begin with and that he's just a liar.

"Brilliant. Knew you would." Arthur smiled, thumping the younger teen on the back. He let his hand rest there, briefly, fingers digging lightly into the thick blazer. "Are you ready to go?"

"Where are you going?" Belle asked curiously, arriving at the table.

"Secret." Arthur responded, looking at Matthew who nodded.

Belle watched the two teens walk off, her bemused smile slowly turning knowing.

* * *

"You can see the entire town." Matthew said excitedly, sitting on his knees as he craned his neck to get a better look at the trees and buildings from where they were parked on a high hill in the outer city limits.

"Don't fall off." Arthur grumbled, looking up from where he was tuning his guitar. "Twit." He muttered, strumming a note to check.

"You still play the guitar?" the Canadian teen asked, looking back.

"Yeah, but Antonio plays better so I just sing." The sandy-haired boy responded distractedly, smirking in victory when he finished tuning the instrument.

Sitting back against the windshield, Matthew fiddled with his glasses and, in forced shyness, asked, "Can you play something?"

"Of course I can." Arthur scoffed, before his smile turned sly. "Guess the song."

Slowly plucking a few strings, the Brit gradually built up to a proper tune before beginning to sing. "_I've paid my dues…time after time…I've done my sentence…but committed no crime._" He paused, looking up at Matthew.

"We are the Champions." Matthew rolled his eyes. "Easy."

"_God save the Queen, the fascist regime—_"

"Now you're just insulting me." The blond shoved the other who laughed unapologetically. "Hoser."

"Fine, fine." Arthur began to play again. "Here's a sneak preview."

Matthew refrained from snorting and instead made himself comfortable against the windshield, the warm sun beating down on them. Though the blond had gotten used to wearing the whole uniform, the combined warmth of it and the golden rays scattering across them and mottling the car with heat, made him lethargic and uncomfortable. Cheeks pink, he closed his eyes.

"Don't sleep."

"'M not. Just play." Matthew grumbled.

"_The drugs begin to peak. A smile of joy arrives in me._" Arthur sang softly, dragging out the notes in the hush of the day. "_But sedation changes to panic and nausea. And breath starts to shorten and heartbeats pound softer!_"

"That's kind of depressing." Matthew mumbled sleepily as Arthur continued to sing, soon lulled to sleep by the other's voice.

* * *

When Matthew awoke, he was fairly disoriented when he opened his eyes and everything was dark. With a jolt, he sat up, the blazer covering his face tumbling to pool at his waist.

"What's the rush, mate?" Arthur muttered sleepily from next to him, one arm thrown over his eyes.

Matthew just stared at the sandy-haired boy (blushing a furious shade of scarlet when he realized he had been using Arthur's thigh as a pillow) before glancing up at the sky and realizing the sun was setting, splotches of orange and the upcoming purples and blues of dusk chasing away the warmth.

"We missed class. I missed practice. You missed practice. We're going to be in so much—"

"Quiet." Arthur ordered, removing his arm and giving the babbling boy a stern glare. His eyebrows were knitted together and Matthew only began to freak out more when he was unmoved by the terrifying image the other made.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Matthew asked, crawling off the hood of the car and nearly falling flat on his ass. "Is this your blazer?" He asked, realizing he was wearing his.

"Yeah. You look like you burn easily." Arthur stretched, his back popping loudly. "And I didn't wake you because I thought you could use a bit of a kip."

Arthur's navy blazer clenched between his tense fingers and violet eyes wide, Matthew could only stare as Arthur nonchalantly rolled off the hood and stretched again.

Arthur was making this harder than Matthew could've imagine.

"But what about…" Matthew trailed off weakly when Arthur looked at him, green eyes narrowed.

"I don't care. Just say thanks and be done with it."

"Sorry." The blond said quietly, glancing at his shoes, his pale blond bangs falling to shield his face. "And thank you."

"Anytime."

_

* * *

From: Matthew_

_Message: …and he missed band practice._

_From: Alfred_

_Message: SUCCESSSSSS : D_

Looking down at Alfred's text message, Matthew didn't feel so sure.

* * *

...I don't even know anymore. Can they just fuck and be done with it? -grumble grumble grumble-

I truly admire the authors who can keep a story going for chapters and chapters. That's genius, right there.

(I have a painfully short attention span...that should explain so much...)


End file.
